by Ann Jacobs
“Yeah. Oh. Thanks anyway. I appreciate the thought. I’ll call you.”
“Okay.” Straining on tiptoes to reach his lips, Kristine gave Tony one last kiss before climbing into her car.
* * * * *
When she began her workday in a misdemeanor courtroom two hours later, Kristine felt Tony’s presence as if he were still with her. Maybe he was, because she had the feeling he’d invaded her mind as surely as he’d claimed her body.
“By the way, Harper wants to see you after you finish up with these arraignments,” Andi mentioned after she’d handed Kristine a folder bursting at the seams with the case files on Judge Hamilton’s docket.
That wouldn’t be before afternoon, Kristine thought after Andi had left. She exchanged a few words of casual conversation with Bill Ward, the other assistant state attorney who would be working with her, alternately presenting the state’s cases against a hundred or so unfortunate souls who’d been caught breaking the law last night.
Accused drug dealers, prostitutes, thieves, drunk drivers, and others suspected of having gone awry of the law straggled into the courtroom, distinguishable from the attorneys not only by their casual attire but by universally worried expressions. Kristine nodded and smiled at her colleagues for the defense as they came in, briefcases in hand. They were a motley crew—worn-out men years past their prime and fresh-faced youths who’d chosen private practice or associate positions with large firms. None held a candle to Tony.
But then criminal defense lawyers of Tony’s stature sent their associates to handle arraignments, rarely showed their faces in court until it was time for jury selection. Kristine murmured a quiet good-morning to one of those associates, Hank Ehlers, when he approached the bench with a well-dressed woman accused of drunk driving in conjunction with an accident that had injured two children. She couldn’t help contrasting Hank’s prosperous-looking client with the handcuffed, orange-garbed prisoner she’d had bound over for trial a few minutes earlier on a similar charge.
Rich miscreants and big-time criminals. The backbone of Winston Roe’s clientele. How could Tony look in the mirror, knowing he was putting people like these back on the streets? Kristine wished she could make up her mind whether the handful of pro bono cases he took on to see justice served negated the evil he apparently condoned from his paying clients.
“Ms. Granger?”
Chiding herself for woolgathering, Kristine pulled the last file from her box. “I’m sorry, Your Honor. The State is ready.”
Judge Hamilton scowled. “Proceed, then, with the State versus Francone. Will the prisoner stand?”
He did, though he took his time.
“Marcus Francone is charged with two counts of armed robbery of convenience stores last night.”
“Priors?”
“Two, your honor.”
Kristine handed the file to the judge, whose gaze had shifted to a skinny, shackled prisoner with a surly look on his swarthy face. “Do you have counsel?”
“Nah.”
The judge advised the prisoner of his rights, and the public defender’s representative stepped forward. “We plead not guilty, your honor,” he said after speaking briefly with Francone. “Request that you set bail.”
“Bail is set at fifteen thousand dollars.”
After setting a trial date, the judge called a fifteen-minute recess. The arraignments were finished. As usual, efficiently.
Done with her duties at the courthouse for the day, Kristine gathered her briefcase and headed to her office. Nothing worked to get her mind off Tony.
* * * * *
It was nearly time to leave for the day when State Attorney Harper Wells stepped inside Kristine’s office and closed the door. “Your father would be horrified if he knew you were consorting with Landry,” he said without preamble.
Kristine looked up from the brief she’d been preparing, met the gaze of a man who had once been one of her parents’ closest friends. “Why do you say that?”
“He’s not our kind.”
The snobbish statement, so typical coming from Mr. Wells, rankled. “By that I assume you mean Tony didn’t inherit his membership in the yacht club?”
“I’d be surprised if the club would let him in. No, I suppose I wouldn’t be. Money talks. God knows Landry has more than his share of it, thanks to his ability to get criminals acquitted. The directors probably would admit him at that, if he applied. Which, by the way, he hasn’t.”
“If we were in court, I’d say you were speculating.”
Wells shook his head, then took Kristine’s hand. “Almost twenty-five years ago, Landry’s father killed a man. He was convicted of first degree murder.”
Kristine couldn’t help the shocked sound that came from deep in her throat. “Murder?”
“He killed a fellow migrant worker in a bar fight.” Wells shrugged. “Happens all the time with those people. They’re no better than animals.”
“Oh.” Her tender heart went out to Tony for all she imagined he must have suffered.
“So, my dear, you see why I’ve been warning you against Landry. He has bad blood.”
“That sounds positively medieval. Surely you don’t believe—”
“I believe the man’s an upstart. He may look and dress like us, but underneath, he’s nothing but white trash. He’ll revert, mind my words, and if you’re there when it happens, you’ll get hurt.”
The more Wells said, the more determined Kristine became to defend Tony, though she had no doubt he could defeat her boss any day, should he choose to rise in his own defense. After listening to a character assassination that was nothing short of vicious, she couldn’t hold her tongue a moment longer.
“As far as I’m concerned, Mr. Wells, Tony Landry is every bit as good as you or me. Like him or not, you can’t deny he’s a brilliant trial lawyer.”
“A brilliant trial lawyer with a murdering migrant worker for a parent, whose sole purpose in life is to get rich by seeing the guilty set free.”
When Wells looked at her, she noticed his cheeks had turned unnaturally red. “You’re determined to keep seeing him, aren’t you?”
“Asked and answered, sir.”
Kristine realized she’d stepped over the line. Tony was her friend. Her lover. The man she couldn’t help loving, no matter what his father might or might not have done. No matter how he chose the clients he’d defend.
She might not be able to reconcile being with Tony if she couldn’t accept him defending clients she believed deserved conviction, but she wasn’t about to stand by and listen to Harper Wells or anybody else defame him.
“Your poor mother would turn over in her grave,” Wells muttered as he stomped out, a scowl marring his florid face.
Andi barely missed colliding with Wells. “Problems?” she asked as she settled onto the straight chair beside Kristine’s desk.
“He doesn’t want me seeing Tony Landry.”
“Since when does Harper give a damn what his employees do on their own time? I seem to recall he’s the ogre who wouldn’t let us take up a collection to help out when the receptionist’s husband got killed a few months back. He told us then that personal matters weren’t this office’s concern.”
Kristine shrugged. “Mr. Wells was my parents’ friend. He tried to tell me they’d have fits if they knew I was going out with Tony. First, he hinted that Tony wasn’t good enough for a blue-blooded Tampa girl like me. Then he came right out and told me Tony’s father murdered someone years ago. Tony couldn’t have been more than seven or eight years old.”
“And that’s supposed to make Landry bad? Specifically what did Wells say other than that Tony’s dad was a killer?”
“That Tony wasn’t ‘our kind.’ He mentioned that Tony grew up in a series of foster homes. Like Tony’s father murdering someone, all the things Wells mentioned were circumstances Tony had no control over. When I told him I didn’t care about Tony’s past, he pointed out that he makes his living now by defending c
riminals and said I should care about that.”
“Now the fact Landry’s a damn good criminal defense attorney is certainly no news. Neither is the fact that defendants have the right to competent counsel.” Andi’s expression softened. “Kristine, don’t pay Harper any mind. Do what you have to on the job, but when you get off work, let your heart lead you. Or your hormones,” she added as she shot Kristine a cheeky grin.
* * * * *
When Tony showed up on her front porch after work that night, briefcase and Chinese restaurant carryout bag in hand, Kristine’s heart warmed. She wondered why he came, though, when it seemed all he wanted was to talk shop. Feeling out of her league, she listened, inserting an occasional comment now and then. Amazing, how carefully he thought out strategy for questioning the witnesses he planned to call tomorrow, in order to cast the most possible doubt on evidence the state had already presented.
He’d apparently meant it when he told her his time would be limited, but surely he’d soon set aside his scribbled notes and do something about easing the sexual tension that was beginning to drive her crazy. Just as she was about to give up and chalk the evening up as a great lesson in courtroom tactics, he laid down his pen and stroked her cheek.
“Know what I need about now?” he asked as he slid his hand over the sensitive spots on her neck and downward to rest lightly on the upper curve of her breast. “I need my Krissy fix.”
“I–I need you, too.” Already her juices were soaking her plain silk panties, that reaction having been triggered by his nearness—the mellow, sensual sound of his deep voice and the unique fragrance of his cologne. She wanted to see him, touch him…belong to him again the way she had last night. And she wanted to drive him crazy with wanting, shatter his control.
From the way his fingers shook when he slid them inside her blouse and fumbled with the front clasp of her bra, she guessed he was none too far from losing it. “Need some help?” she asked, tackling the buttons and then sliding the silky material off her shoulders and away just as he freed her aching breasts.
“Oh, yeah.” He caught a nipple between his teeth and swirled his tongue over and around the incredibly sensitive nub. Shards of pleasure traveled through her body, burst in hot, delicious bubbles in both breasts…her belly…deep inside her. Most of all they set off tiny explosions between her legs.
Explosions Tony magnified a hundred times when he stroked her there through her panties, then slid the silk aside. He inserted his fingers between her outer lips and circled her swollen clit.
“You’re wet. And hot.”
And embarrassed. Especially when she felt more juices flow, soaking his hand as he stroked her there. “I’m sorry,” she muttered, her words muffled against his chest—and the pale gray shirt that suddenly was in her way.
“Don’t be. I love it. I’m just as ready for you as it seems you are for me. Get those panties off,” he said, moving to undo his pants, free his erection, and roll on a condom in a flurry of desperate motion. “Now come here and ride me. I’ll make you feel real good.”
Straddling his lap, the tip of his penis nestled at the opening of her vagina, Kristine wanted…she wanted him inside her, filling her, and now he was. Filling her, stretching her, scalding her insides with an intense heat while he cupped her breasts, suckled first one and then the other. When he lifted her, she wanted to protest until he lowered her on his shaft again and again, deeper each time until his sac bounced against her rear passage.
He felt so good. This felt so right. She loved listening to the ragged cadence of his breathing, feeling the hard muscles in his shoulders bunch beneath her fingers as though it took extraordinary effort for him to hold on to some shred of control. Smelling the blend of their colognes and the unique heady scent of sex made her hungry to taste him. And tasting the slightly salty sweat along his sandpapery jaw sent her seeking more…his velvety soft earlobe, the exposed flesh of his muscular neck.
All the delicious sensations bombarded her, building pressure deep in her belly. Pressure that spread and burst in a wild array of new feelings. Delicious feelings. “Oh, yesss,” she hissed when he slammed her down one last time and held her there, his jerking, spurting release triggering another climax that left her drained…yet supremely satisfied.
Long after Tony had left, Kristine managed to come down from the cloud of pleasure he’d led her to when they made love. For a long time, she lay in the dark and pondered the point of a closing argument he’d tried out on her—the allegation that truth came not only in black and white, but in shades of gray.
That thought kept her up until the early morning hours.
* * * * *
Nine o’clock came too early after a night of sex and self-examination. Still a little sleepy, Kristine took her place at the prosecution table and pulled out the file for the State of Florida versus Kenny Rich. When public defender Tom Fernandez arrived, they exchanged friendly banter for a few minutes.
“We should be out of here soon,” she commented. “Our case is first on the docket.”
Tom shrugged. “Don’t count on it. I’m not going to waive the preliminary hearing.”
“Why?” Since judges invariably bound over defendants for trial, most defense lawyers, especially ones from the public defender’s office, waived the preliminaries.
“My client wants me to let him present exculpatory evidence.”
Kristine let out a sigh. “There goes my morning.”
“Yeah. My thought, too. But Kenny insists.” Tom shrugged, as if it didn’t matter to him, one way or the other.
They approached the bench, where Tom explained his client’s wishes. Since neither the judge nor Kristine objected to the unusual request, the hearing proceeded.
Briefly, Kristine enumerated the state’s evidence: an informant’s tip, the subsequent issuance of a search warrant, and the discovery of over a half-pound of marijuana bagged for street sale in the defendant’s apartment. For good measure, she noted for the record that the state had evidence the defendant was a regular user of the drug.
Then the defendant was sworn in. As were most defendants charged with small-time drug-related felonies, Kenny Rich was young. Twenty-two, according to the information on his arrest record. The county-jail orange jumpsuit he wore made his pale skin look sallow. Kristine felt a twinge of pity when she saw his hands shaking.
She thought of the prisoner Tony was representing on appeal and the violence he’d endured at the hands of his fellow prisoners. Was Kenny any better equipped than Ezra to stave off attacks from older, more seasoned criminals?
Kristine reminded herself the reason she was here was to see justice served for crime victims, not worry about whether defendants could take care of themselves in the county lockup or later in state prison facilities.
“I was framed.”
She’d heard that a hundred times, but from Kenny the protest rang true. He ran a finger through strawberry-blond hair that needed a trim, but his gaze held steady.
When he insisted the drugs had been planted, Kristine had to steel herself not to believe. As it was, she found herself digging through the file, re-reading the police report with an eye to locating discrepancies. Nothing.
None of the cops’ evidence seemed forced. Kristine detected no gaping holes or conflicting statements. She had nothing to justify her feelings but a gut instinct that Kenny Rich was telling the truth. If he was, then she was aiding the court in committing a travesty of justice.
She did it successfully, too, because the judge found that probable cause existed and bound Kenny over for trial the following week. When the deputies escorted him from the courtroom, Kristine suppressed a shudder.
The rest of the day as she prepared briefs and searched for precedents for an arson trial Andi would be trying the next week, Kristine kept seeing Kenny’s earnest expression, his trembling hands, and the stark fear in his eyes as the deputies had led him away.
That image haunted Kristine throughout the day, until f
inally she shut off her computer. Only vaguely sure of her destination, she headed for the courthouse and slipped into the back of Courtroom A, where Andi and Tony were about to present closing arguments in a high-profile case involving white-collar crime.
Tony went first. He needed no sartorial props to make the jurors sit up and take notice. Impressive in the conservative gray suit, pale blue shirt, and striped tie Kristine thought of as the courtroom uniform of all high-priced defenders, he radiated confidence along with barely leashed male power.
Kristine knew how carefully he’d prepared his close, but he was speaking to the twelve jurors now as though the words rolled effortlessly off his tongue. He gave the impression he was talking to twelve good friends, explaining rules of evidence in words they could easily understand.
She watched the jurors’ faces, saw them consider what Tony said and warm to him one by one. By the time he finished, what had seemed a hostile group intent on convicting his client when he’d stood and begun his magic had morphed into a thoughtful, contemplative assembly of citizens apparently willing to consider that the man might be innocent despite compelling evidence to the contrary.
Then it was Andi’s turn. From the jaunty way she wore a bright red scarf that should have clashed with her coppery hair to the confident way she addressed the jury, Kristine had no doubt her supervisor loved the fight. Andi was good. Very good. Not as good as Tony, but close.
Both Tony and Andi were exceptional trial lawyers. Kristine looked back, considered her own limited experience in court and the mixed results she’d gotten. What was it, she wondered, that gave Andi and Tony their edge? Made them stand out in a sea of attorneys?
Suddenly it came to her. They loved the fight.
Just as suddenly Kristine realized that she didn’t. She was happier preparing briefs and pleadings than she was trying to sway juries. But she couldn’t turn her back on the vow she’d made. Couldn’t let Helen’s death go unpunished.